


Tension and Spark

by moodymarshmallow



Series: We Wouldn't Be Elves, Otherwise. [6]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bondage, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Blooming Rose, Rope, and a hint at Emanuel's true desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tension and Spark

The longer that I know him, the more I realize that I was completely unprepared for the reality of being with Emanuel. When we met at the Hanged Man, I thought he was too innocent by half—adorable and green as a sapling. He giggled at me and called me pretty, and I had these heady fantasies of seducing him, of feeling him shiver when I kissed him. He does shiver, now and then, when my teeth are on his collarbone, or my tongue is on his cock, but he’s not the delicate, coy little thing that I thought he would be.

We’re at the Blooming Rose, and it wasn’t my idea. I’m letting Emanuel lead, feeling senseless and nervous as we pass through the doorway. Emanuel’s looking cheerfully wicked while I’m bristling under the gaze of the guards and the patrons who all turn an eye and a raised eyebrow to us. My mind spins as we ascend the stairs. I wonder if many elves come here in pairs, looking for a room like it’s an inn or a tavern rather than a brothel. I’m staring at Emanuel’s back as I follow him, wondering if I heard him correctly when he said that we weren’t looking for extra company “this time.”

But I’m not put off. I narrow my focus on Emanuel when I close the door behind us, barely glancing at the room, and I’m as in love with him as ever when he flings his arms around my neck and stands on his toes to kiss me. I want him like I’m starving for him, as though I could breathe him in like fresh air and never be sated. I tell him, but not in so many words, and he shares that gorgeous, filthy smile with me.

Then he says that he wants to tie me up and blindfold me.

I’m not sure I hear him right, so I ask him to repeat himself as we’re stumbling to the bed together, his hands under my shirt, mine cradling his neck. He tells me that he wants to see how I react when I can’t touch him back, when all I can do is anticipate and feel, and that he wants to try  _everything_  with me, but only if that’s what I want.

I do want it—unexpectedly so.

Even though he’s so excited that his hands are shaking, he is incredibly gentle as he’s binding my wrists. I’m leaning back against his chest while his fingers work rope into tight knots, and he’s telling me that  _this time_  he’ll tie them in front of me, but I should keep them over my head unless my arms start hurting. I ask him how long he’s been carrying rope around, teasing him, and he nips my ear, giggling at me. When he’s done, I can’t move my arms except to pivot my shoulders to raise them above my head as he helps me ease onto my back.  

When he blindfolds me, I have a brief paranoid sensation that the walls are closing in. Emanuel can always tell, and he holds me, wrapping me up in him until I relax. Then his fingers brush my bare chest and I’m the one shivering as he strips me to my smalls. He touches me with hot hands that I know are glowing, even without seeing them. I love his little parlor tricks.

He’s on me, holding his hips just out of the range of friction as he worships me with tongue and teeth. I have never wanted more or been given more, and it exhausts me. I keep pressing my face into my arm, but he turns it back, hot fingertips on my chin, and he’s urging, coaxing, and telling me how much he wants to watch me.

When he begins to mouth my cock through my smalls, I start pleading, inarticulate and needy, licking his fingers when I find them on my lips and pressing to him with thigh and hip when I feel his body close enough to writhe against it. I am nothing but the sweet, aching sensation of my skin, and the rabbit-quick throb of my pulse. Emanuel calls me beautiful, and I feel shattered and scattered, like I’m no longer inside my own head.

I don’t even realize that I’m begging him to fuck me until he stops licking. He climbs up the bed, straddling me and pushing back my blindfold. Emanuel’s eyes are always wide, but they’re like saucers now. He keeps asking me if that’s what I really want, if I want him to take me like that. I keep my arms back, but I nuzzle his wrist with my cheek and all I say is _of course._

He has parlor tricks he’s yet to show me, and I get to find out about one of them when my legs are spread and my smalls are on the ground. His fingers are warm and slick, and I’m saying something foolish about how nice it is to have a mage as a lover. A smile crosses his face. I’ve never called him that before. I can think of other things to call him, things I haven’t said in many, many years, thick Elvish words that don’t have impact any other way, things that are far too soon to say no matter how I feel.  

I say one of them anyway, and though he doesn’t understand me, the sentiment is clear. Then it’s less about the sex and the game and more about the closeness, so he unties me and we switch places. It takes me a while to be ready, to be slick and relaxed enough, but it’s worth it to have him fit perfectly and see the look on his face when he does. I love the way he says my name when he’s inside of me; like it’s something he simply can’t believe, like  _I’m_  the one that’s amazing. It makes me inexplicably happy to be in the prison that is Kirkwall, where I can leave my ghosts in Ferelden where they belong.

When I kiss him, he shivers for me—he’s still not delicate or coy, and I love him for it.


End file.
